


Two Wolves

by nogoaway



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: BDSM, Dakotacest, F/M, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Incest, Oral Sex, Real Names, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3325526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nogoaway/pseuds/nogoaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You're being a dick," South repeats, and folds her arms over her chest "Like, more of a dick than usual? Because I'm gonna tell you a secret, Брат: you're kind of a dick."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains graphic sibling incest between two consenting adults. I'm serious, and this is your warning. If you absolutely _must_ tell me how disgusting I am, please do so via pm and not in the comments. Other things in this story that should remind you of how long it's been since you last went to church include: D/S, impact play, ~gender sorcery~ (about which North is kind of a dope), maybe-not-100%-healthy relationship dynamics, perhaps unrealistically acrobatic sex, and a little blood.

Ever since the Atlantic group joined them on the MOI, there's been a third person in their bed. North doesn't know who it is, yet, but it's one of the women. It has to be. South only gets like this when she's crushing on a girl-- stands up straighter, pitches her voice the tiniest bit deeper, radiates casual masculinity instead of her usual blazing collage of androgyny. The binder comes out for the first time since they left Manassas, and she sits differently in the rec room, her legs splayed farther apart and her arms looser on the back of the couch.

He knows he could just, _should_ just ask her, but he doesn't, and it takes him a while to realize why. He's nervous. It wasn't like South hadn't always gone after girls, but back at home and in Basic her pattern was more like 'chase, fuck, discard'. South got bored easily, because none of those girls could be everything she needed. They liked Butch-South, one-dimensional and dominant and suave in her own jagged way, and once South figured out how bored that made her, she was back to being his sister: his whole, brilliant prism of a sister, who bled her self-destruction out under North late at night, her teeth bared and her slender wrists pinched with nylon.

None of these new women seem like they're the slightest bit interested in Butch-South, and that makes North nervous. These aren't high schoolers, or fresh recruits-- they're the cream of the crop: experienced, deadly, and driven. North knows that doesn't necessarily mean anything, but he can't help the feeling that if she wanted to, fire-haired Carolina could do for South what North does for her. Virginia and her broad, calloused hands could bring South down and take her apart. Connecticut, tiny as she is, could hold his sister on a knife blade, maybe even better than North can, because he's never been willing to _really_ hurt her, and that's what South seems to want more than anything.

North has limits, because he loves her. But these new women, they don't even know her.

"You doing alright?" he asks anyway, when the rest of the ship has gone to bed and it's just them in the Sector 8A fitness room, South testing a leather belt she filched out of the lost and found. She's bored of all of North's belts by now, standard dark brown dress belts he used to wear to job interviews and weddings. The one she's wrapped tight around her left wrist is wide, and black, and studded with metal rivets.

"Green, Брат, Jesus, what is your problem lately?" She rolls her eyes at North and whips the belt off. The studs clink over the buckle. "No one's even naked, here."

That wasn't what he meant. "I'm not hitting you with that," he informs her.

South grins toothily. "Wanna bet?"

North grabs for her, but she dances back out of his reach, snapping the belt at him. The end of it catches the side of his arm, and he hisses. The studs _hurt_.

"Wimp," South says, nastily, and whips the belt again. North snatches it out of the air, ignoring the sting, and tugs, yanking South towards him and off her feet. She stumbles into him, and he grabs her right elbow with his free hand, twisting her arm behind her back and forcing her to the floor. She taught him that trick, years ago, when they were kids and South used to beat him up. North folds the belt in half and tucks it under his right thumb, pressing the studs into the soft skin of South's upper arm.

"I taught you that trick," she gripes, and then gasps when North reaches around to her front and digs his fingers in between the buttons of her flannel shirt, grabbing the fabric and pulling. Plastic pearlescent buttons scatter over the mat, and he strips the shirt off of her free arm, letting the rest of it hang, bunched up, over the crook of her folded-back elbow. The awkward angle forces her shoulder blade up into the middle of her back, makes the muscles of her shoulder strain. North admires how the black ink of her tattoo contorts, twists over the skin.

"No bra," he observes mildly. No binder, either, which is good. Back in high school she used to sleep in it sometimes, which can't have been healthy.

"Fuck off," she tells him, and there's real heat in it, for a moment.

North adjusts his grip and lets his eyes wander to the far corner by the weight bench, where he can feel that third presence, cool and indistinct, watching them. Carolina sitting with her elbow braced on her knee, idly curling a dumbbell. Connecticut, feet up on the bench and short hair clipped back with a yellow barrette, doing inverted pushups.

South squirming brings him back to the here and now. North pushes her down harder and digs his knee into her lower back. South grunts and bucks, and he switches the belt to his other hand, lets it unfold and drape down her spine. It looks beautiful there, a thick black line bisecting pale skin. South's head falls forward, blonde hair parting over her neck. After a minute and a half (shorter than usual, North notes), her body relaxes.

Watching South go down always flips a switch in him, too, and the gym goes a bit hazy as North's flooded with warm feelings of accomplishment, affection, and (despite himself) power. He'd never abuse it, not intentionally, but he's only human, and it makes him horny and cocky and over-confident the way being in charge in the field never has. And that's not an excuse for what he says next, but it's an explanation.

"You know, you're pretty tall for a girl," he starts, and South cranes her head back over her shoulder to give him an acidic look, one that says _excuse me?_ "I mean. You know what I mean. A female-bodied person."

"Are we gonna fuck, here, or is this gonna be another night of you being all guiltily PC at me? Because really, Nick, that _never_ gets old--"

"I _mean_ ," he says, twisting her arm up just enough that she drops her head down to hiss in discomfort "you're lucky I'm bigger than you. You'd have a hard time finding someone else who can--" he stops. Flushes. What is _wrong_ with him?

"Wow," South says, sounding completely unimpressed and like she's been picking up sarcasm tips from Niner "Really? A size thing? You want me to tell you how big you are? Oh, baby," she deadpans "you're _so big_."

"Stop," North says, and buries his flaming face in the back of her neck. South's sides are shaking with suppressed laughter. She's clearly come back up entirely. He's terrible at this.

"Don't combust, _big bro_ ," South chokes out, and North realizes with a chill of horror that this moment is never going to leave him, he is going to spend the rest of his military career with South calling him Big Boy and Size King "go on, tell me how I'm gonna choke on your big, fat-"

"I do _not_ have a size thing," North insists, feeling, yeah, a little like he's going to combust, like his head is going to pop off and float away on wafts of shame like a balloon "I just. I'm sorry. I'm being a dick."

South taps her foot twice on the mat, and North lets her go, just barely resisting the urge to hide his face in his hands. She rolls her shoulder a little, then sits up on her knees and shuffles around to face him. North drops down onto his ass on the mat, not bothering to cover the half-chub that's stretching out his sweats. She's seen him looking _much_ worse, and his body is having a hell of a time deciding if he's still in the mood.

"You're being a dick," South repeats, and folds her arms over her chest "Like, more of a dick than usual? Because I'm gonna tell you a secret, Брат: you're kind of a dick."

"I'm a nice person," North says, automatically, because that's been his whole life-- South is always there, and compared to South, _no one_ is a dick "I'm polite, and non-confrontational, and a good listener--"

"Last Friday," South interrupts "I saw you split a man from groin to neck with a repeating laser rifle. I've seen you do that _eight_ times. It's like your signature move."

It had taken him a while to get that one right. Required excellent timing and good forearm strength. "I enjoy my job, okay?"

South just stares at him, and like every time they have this conversation (it's not that often, really), he gives up the pretense almost immediately. "And I'm kind of a dick."

South very pointedly nudges his cock with her bare foot. "Uh huh. Fess up."

North grabs her by the heel and holds her foot away from his groin, and soon he's rubbing along the sole and tugging on her toes. South has calluses so thick she can walk on smashed glass and not complain, but she makes a contented noise low in her throat anyway. "You've been acting like--" he pauses "remember Martina, in the eighth grade?"

"Tchakova? Sure. Nice girl," South cracks her toe joints "who the fuck cares?"

"You liked her."

"You're being a dick because of Marty Tchakova." It isn't a question.

North shakes his head, frustrated with himself. "When you like someone, a woman, you get all--" he waves his free hand a little, unsure what he's trying to communicate beyond 'different'. South has explained this to him, over and over, and it's one of the things about her he still doesn't really understand.

South just hikes her eyebrows up. She enjoys watching him squirm.

He drops his arm, giving up. "It's none of my business who you sleep with." That's a mantra he's had to adopt over the years, and it's only one of several.

South's much quicker than the Director has ever given her credit for, and because North knows her so well he can see the exact moment she gets it, and then the moment right after, when she realizes that she can _use_ this. The smile that crawls over her face is sleek and filthy.

"Well. Sounds like someone's a little concerned about his _position_ ," she says, and hooks her legs around his hips, dragging him in as she rocks them backwards onto the mat.

This was a mistake.  Showing South weakness is always a mistake. "Don't," North says, catching himself on his hands.

"Don't what?" South sprawls out under him, stretching her arms over her head and arching her body up "don't tell you all about how fucking hot Carolina is when she's mad, how bad she wants to put me in my pla--"

North slaps a hand over her mouth. They stare at each other in complete stillness for well over a minute, South because she's trying get a bead on him and North because he's imagining it, and it makes him feel hot and queasy and terrified on a level he's not proud of and really, really doesn't want to examine.

He doesn't realize until South gives a pleased little hum that his hand has trailed down to rest on her throat. Her pulse throbs under his thumb, infuriatingly steady.

South's eyes flick away from his towards the belt, abandoned in a twisted coil to their left. North sucks in a breath. He's worked himself into a corner here, and she knows it.

It's always been like this with South, on some level. She's the one in control of him, but no one's got control over her, least of all South herself, and she's desperate for it. For someone, anyone-- North, the military, any number of faceless domineering assholes-- to rein her in, to take her fighting every step of the way. He's watched it play out over and over, and there's always a point where they cave, where South pushes and instead of pushing back they give way, or walk out.

North can't walk out, though, and they both know it. And so South pushes, and _pushes_ , and what if that's all this is, just another push? Another high-stakes dare.

"What you need, I don't--" he starts, and trails off when South's pulse speeds up under the pad of his thumb, hot and urgent.

 _I don't know how_ , North thinks, for the hundredth time, but it's been a lie since they were twenty-three and he realized, hand on hers in a Manassas emergency room, that _this_ was the problem. Really he's just afraid that he'll try, and it won't be enough.

And then South does that thing, that Jedi mindfuck wavelength _thing_ , and hisses "You're afraid you'll like it too much, that's why. You're afraid you'll hurt me and you'll _love_ it." She wraps both her hands over his and squeezes, putting pressure on her own throat. "But the thing is, Брат--" and South rolls her hips up into his so hard North gasps, and can't help rutting back against her jeans, mindlessly "the caveman routine? Shit like that's exactly how I know you're good for it. You're just as fucked up as I am, brother dear, and I'm the only person in the infinite"  her hands dart away from her neck to scramble down his chest and tug his prick out of the sweats "fucking universe", and she keeps the left curled around him much too tight as the right undoes her own pants "who sees it--".

North realizes with a start that her face is turning red, and he wrenches his hand away. South coughs weakly, and shimmies the jeans down off one foot, hooking her legs around him again, reeling him in. North fumbles for her wrists and catches the right one, jerks it up over her head.

South's still toying too roughly with his prick when she rasps "It's in our blood. She hit you too, _Nicky-bear_ ," and North sees red.

He knows, intellectually, that it's the surprise of the thing, and the sheer nastiness of the pet name, and so he bites his own cheek and schools himself to total stillness. The rage washes over and through him. He pictures it draining out through his fingers and toes, pooling black and rancid under the both of them.

Through his mouth. "Be quiet," he orders.

"Oh," says South, blandly "I'm sorry. Was that too much?" Her thighs tense around his waist, and he feels her trying to flip them "Wanna talk about him instead? He's why I started lifting weights, you know. I always meant to ask if it was the same for you, but you got tall early, and you didn't have to live with him."

North hears _you didn't protect me_ , and the rage evaporates, replaced by a strange sadness that makes his lungs feel heavy and his chest ache. "I've changed my mind," he says, and tugs her other arm away from him by the elbow, pinning both her wrists to the mat with a single hand and steadying himself on his knees "keep talking."

Predictably, South shuts up.

"No, really," he runs his free hand over her cheek, dares to rest his thumb in the corner of her mouth. She nips at him, but there's no anger in it; it's almost affectionate, apologetic. Pain and affection are twisted together for South, like she's got her wires crossed somewhere important. "Clearly you have something to say."

"We don't talk about this," South mumbles, and catches his thumb in her teeth again, worries at the flesh with her canines.

"Maybe we should," North starts, but she's shaking her head. "Anja?"

"No," she says, firmly "No. I don't want to know. I don't want to talk about it, and I don't want to know."

 _He didn't do anything to me_ , North thinks, and then _oh God_. He tries to scramble off of her, but Anja locks her knees and pulls.

"Not that," she hisses, furious "not _that_ , okay, come _back_ here. Fucking Christ."

"I don't think I should--"

"Don't you dare, Nick."

North settles back down, puts his full weight on her from shoulders to groin. It always makes her calmer, and it soothes something in him, too. She's slim enough that he can cover her completely like this, hide her from the world. He registers with distant half-interest that she's not wearing underwear when his stomach meets nothing but warm skin.

"Not that," she breathes into his neck, hot and damp "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

North presses a kiss to the top of her head, tries to stop shaking. "He hurt you."

"It was a long time ago," she says, and it's as close to an affirmative as he's ever gotten from her on the matter. She wants him to change the subject.

"He's dead," North can't help saying, mostly to remind himself.

South growls and sets her teeth into the arch of his trapezius, grinding down.

"волчица," he hisses, wincing, and slams the knot of her fists down into the mat until she lets go.

South's grinning, and there's red in her mouth. She blows a bloody spit-bubble that pops and leaves a trail of pink slick down her chin. North should find it revolting. He should find the last six years of their lives revolting. Instead he laps coppery spittle from her skin and hates himself, hates the both of them.

"You're hard," she purrs, and twitches underneath him, fully pinned.

It's true. North grinds his prick into the firm cradle of her hips, presses his face, hot with shame, into her hair. He can smell her, wet and ripe.

"I'm not like him," he whispers, helplessly, and traces her features with his free hand-- the familiar nose, the sharp chin. The scar that should have been his. "He's dead, I'm not like him, I'm _nothing_ like him--"

"You're like _me_ ," South gasps, letting her legs fall open and lapping at his bloody shoulder. Each lash of her rough tongue sends a ripple of pain through him, and he tells himself he hates it. "We're the same. You're part of me. _волк_."

North shudders. It's rare for South to talk like this, and even moreso lately, with that damn board making her cold and competitive. He'd forgotten how it makes him feel-- hot and itchy and on the edge of something beautiful and terrible, some primordial melding with this mirror creature who both fascinates and frightens him. It grips him somewhere deep and inexorable, and every time he feels it he remembers that there is nothing in the wide world more important-- not the Project, not the war, not even being alive. He'd do anything for her, absolutely anything-- leave his home, change his name. He's killed. Why should this be any different?

He looks to the corner of the room where the heavy bag hangs silently, expecting to feel Carolina there, watching with her knuckles taped and a bored expression. But there's nothing.

"Get up," he tells his sister, rising to his own feet, and something must be different about his voice or his posture because South doesn't even make a sound, just does as she's told.

North walks over to the bag, reaches up to test the chains hooking it to the ceiling. It moves when he bumps it with his elbow, but not much. He can feel Anja's gaze on him, calculating. "Come here."

Nothing. He turns back around to find her with her arms crossed over her chest, head tilted just slightly to the side. On anyone else it would read as curiosity but with South, it's insolence.

Normally North would wait her out, but just because he's resolved to do this doesn't mean he doesn't want it over with as soon as possible. South's body jerks with surprise and affront when he covers the distance between them with two quick strides and grips her by the hair. She stumbles after him rather than let herself be dragged, but when they approach the corner he jerks her off balance, throwing her into the bag. South tries to catch herself on her hands, but not before her cheek smacks against the vinyl and sends the bag swaying. She hugs it reflexively, trying to stay on her feet.

North grabs her left wrist and holds it up over her head, folds her hand around the chain. She does the same with the right, and then makes an irritated noise when she realizes she's not tall enough to keep her feet flat and hang on at the same time. North closes his hands over hers preemptively.

"Stay," he says, and South growls, but tightens her grip "you let go, and I'll stop."

"Stop _what_ ," she shoots back, and then gasps when he grabs her by the hair again, craning her neck back further than can be comfortable, just to watch the veins stand out in her throat. She blinks up at him, eyes filmy and dazed, but her upper lip is drawn back in a snarl and he can see traces of his blood still lingering in the grooves of her teeth.

"I'm going to hurt you," he informs her, quietly, and hopes he doesn't sound as sad about it as he feels "and unless you red out or let go of that bag, I'm not going to stop."

"Tie me," she says, and North shakes his head "tie me, you fucker--"

"No."

South tugs at the chains, muscles standing out in her arms and back. "Not _fair_. It's too high, I'll get tired--"

"Too bad," North says, and she spits in his face. It misses, lands on his collar. He stares her down, and to his surprise after a long moment she flushes and turns her face into her elbow.

"You're going to want to be very still," he says, "so it doesn't sway too much." South mutters something that sounds like 'fuck you' into the vinyl, but he ignores her.

Then he goes to get the belt.

* * *

 

  
North starts out with the smooth side, vertical blows so it doesn't wrap around her by accident, making sure the leather doesn't twist on the way down and catch her with the metal rivets. He's tugged his sweats back on for some measure of dignity, but he still feels awkward and reluctant to use the force of his whole body, to reel back and really have at it. South's losing her patience, though, and she's started mouthing off again, nastier than her usual, calling him a pansy and a faggot.

 _You're in it now_ , he tells himself, and lays another stripe down her spine _just get it over with_.

The next lash, he lets the leather twist over on the end, and the break of metal studs over South's shoulder leaves a set of white patches that immediately flush red.

"Fuck yes," she hisses, and arches up into the bag.

"Shut up." North hits her again, harder this time, letting more of the metal make contact. He tries to space them out after that, keep from putting too much friction on one spot, but despite his care the sixth stroke breaks the skin behind her left rib. It's just barely, only a scratch, really, a stud caught wrong, but blood wells up in little dots that make his stomach turn.

He should stop. Would normally have stopped by now, because blood is not something he does in the bedroom, not with South and not with anyone else. It's too close to real injury, to the day job, to those times when he's truly feared for her life. This is supposed to be something far away from that, where they can be safe with one another, family, instead of fellow soldiers. But South doesn't compartmentalize like that. To South, everything is an op, and she'd been like that long before they joined the military. South's always on the edge of something dangerous, always on the edge of death. 

Her head is hanging down, neck and back slick with sweat. Her chest is heaving, and the muscles in her arms and shoulders stand out much too sharp under the florescent lighting. Between the ink and the shadows and that spreading line of dark blood, she's a stunning chiacuroso. Beautiful and terrible. South told him he'd like this, and he might if it were someone, anyone else. Someone he didn't love quite as much.

But she hasn't let go of the bag, and he made her a promise. North cuts a wide blow across her shoulders, and another long scratch runs dark with blood, bisecting the head of the Quilin between her scapulae. She gasps, and he barely hears it she's turned it into a swallow so quick. Her hands clench even tighter on the chain, knuckles white. Her breathing is slow and even, intentional.

 _Because I told her to be quiet_ , he realizes. _I told her and she listened._

Another lash, just above her ass. North can tell it surprises her, because she jerks too hard, and the bag sways. He watches her calves and hamstrings strain as she follows it back, trying to stay on her toes, and failing. The weight falls to her arms instead as she's pulled off her feet, and she smothers what sounds like a whimper into the vinyl.

North doesn't know why he says it, but he's thinking about the binder, about Butch-South, and about _you're part of me_. About wolves, and it falls out of his mouth before he can question it.

"Good boy," he murmurs, and South shudders, her sweaty back rippling with light "Look at you. You're being so good."

Gradually the bag pendulums back to vertical, and she's on the balls of her feet again, legs twitching. North can see something slick shining on her inner thigh, and it's not sweat.

"That's it, isn't it?" he realizes "It's not really about them, is it? Tell me."

"Green," she whispers, and North obligingly strikes her again in the middle of her back, but he's flipped the belt over to the smooth side again, and he's not hitting as hard. She's way down at this point, and the pain will have built up. She'll be feeling it in deep layers. "My arms are tired."

"Just a little longer," North says, between blows "I know you can do it. You're such a good boy." It should feel like a silly thing to say, but it doesn't. It feels right. "You're gonna be good for me, right?"

South whimpers, but stays upright, nodding dazedly. She says something into the bag, something that comes out in a soft hiss.

"What was that?" North decides he's tired of trying to keep the belt away from the broken skin and folds it in half, stepping closer to South. Heat pours off of her. He slaps the back of her thigh with the doubled leather, just hard enough to leave a faint pink stripe.

"I said 'yes sir'."

"That's. That's good." It's North's turn to shudder. He's glad she can't see him. He brings the belt down lightly again, and again, alternating thighs. It's rhythmic and calming and he watches the skin there pink up and tries not to think too hard about how the blood doesn't do it for him but this, _this_ he likes-- South shaky and quiet and _yes sir_. He swallows. Surely those are two very different things. There's got to be a line somewhere, and surely North is still on the side of 'not quite as fucked up'.

He runs a palm up the inside of her left thigh and catches wetness on his thumb and fingers. The space between her legs is slick and fever hot, and she makes a soft little sound when he drags the length of his index finger along her cunt. This part of her has always fascinated him-- so different from his own body, and his mouth there can make her jerk and gasp so easily, he can't help but suspect there's a level of sensitivity he doesn't get to experience. He's more than happy to live vicariously, though, and has to swallow as just the thought of it floods his mouth with eager spit. 

North gives her one last smack on the thigh with the belt, and lets it fall, going to his knees and crawling to get in between her and the bag. He hikes her left leg over his shoulder, and South gives a sigh of relief as he takes some of the weight, tries to get her other knee over as well. She can't quite manage it. North slides a hand under her thigh and pulls her up until she's got both her legs secure around his neck. It's awkward, but he can't spare a thought for anything but getting a taste of her. He's never seen her this wet before, and the thought that he did that, that he finally hit the right buttons to get her desperate in a way that can be _fulfilled_ , instead of leaving her wanting-- North groans softly into the stubbled skin of her pubis, where dark blonde hairs are growing in again.

South's entire body jolts when he parts the outer folds with his thumbs, and when he starts to lap at her with the broad flat of his tongue, catching slickness, she lets out with a low whine that doesn't let up until North seals his lips around her clit and sucks, gently. At that, she's just short of screaming. North can hear her swallowing the noise, trying to stay quiet. He wants to tell her that it's okay, that he loves to hear her make noise, but he told her to shut up and she's trying so hard to obey and he loves that too, probably more than he should. He drops a hand to his groin and presses down for a moment, intending just to take the edge off, and gasps against her cunt when it's far too much. He actually grays out for a second, pulsing into the sweats. God damn it.

South's thighs clench around his head, and he knows he lost control for a moment, pressed too hard with his teeth or nose. But not a sound, because he told her not to.

"That's it," he gasps, when he comes up for air, licking his numb lips "just do as you're told, and I'll let you cum." He cranes his head back as far as he can with her legs there, which isn't very far-- just enough to get a glimpse of her face. She's very pink; with arousal or humiliation, he can't tell. He suspects there isn't actually much of a difference, for South. More crossed wires. She looks a little dazed, mouth slack, but she meets his eyes. North moves back in, slipping his index and middle fingers inside her easily and stroking, crooking them back towards his face. South's eyes close. 

He wants to drag it out, but he knows her arms are tired, even with the weight mostly off of them. He darts the tip of his tongue around her clit, presses in hard with his fingers, and South comes without a sound, insides clenching and rippling around him. A bead of slick slides down the inside of his wrist, and he eases his fingers out, shrugging out from under her legs. That, she makes noise about, but she's well within her rights. Her shoulders must be screaming.

"Please," she pants, head still tipped down, hair in her face making her voice sound small and distant "I can't, I can't--"

She's shaking, full-body, and while North knows it isn't shock he still stands and gathers her up reflexively from behind, holds her slimmer body to his chest, ignoring the blood. "Okay, okay, we're done. We're done. Let go."

Her hands don't move, and he waits a few seconds before reaching up to gently uncurl her fingers from the chain. She sags back against him, and then whimpers when her arms fall to her sides. She's got to be sore. North turns her around so he's not pressing on her wounded back, and she tucks her head under his chin, burrows her nose into his breastbone. Her face is hot, and wet.

"Come on, come over here." North half-carries her to the back of the gym, where crew keep a circulating pile of clean, thick towels. He should have brought a blanket. Normally they'd just go back to South's room, but he doesn't want her out in the halls like this.

"I have to get something for your back," he says, into her hair. Anja shakes her head and shoves harder into his chest. "It'll just be a second."

"Mpph," she grumbles unhappily, but pushes off from him, curling into a ball on the floor.

North pulls a medkit out of the chest in the back and ransacks it for steri-wipes and gauze. When he gets back, South's still hunched in fetal position. It makes her look very small.

North taps her on the back. "Hey, kiddo. Lie still, okay?"

South gives him a sour look over her shoulder, but doesn't protest when he tears open a packet of wipes and cleans the blood from her back. He tapes her up with gauze. It's excessive for such light wounds, but it makes him feel better.

"Can I hug you?" he asks, because South goes both ways, after; sometimes she's touchy, other times she can't stand dealing with another human's body heat. It's still surprising when she rolls over and burrows into him, because 'touchy' doesn't normally mean 'clingy'. North has no complaints. He's feeling a little clingy, too, and he drags a towel over them as he pulls Anja into his chest, folds around her with arms and legs.

"Ugh," South says, into his collarbone "did you come in your pants? That's disgusting."

"Hey, I'm not the one covered in _multiple_ bodily fluids." He kisses her hair. "How are you doing?"

"Little woozy," she admits.

"Good woozy?"

"Very good."

North runs his hand up her back, carefully avoiding the tape, and rests his palm over her neck. South practically purrs, huffing soft sighs into the skin of his chest.

After a lazy moment, she tips her head up and bumps him on the chin with her nose. North looks down. Anja's wearing a particular variety of her 'shit-eating' grin, one which tends to bode poorly for him.

"Hmm?" he asks, too buzzed to feel the appropriate trepidation.

"Told'ya so." She wiggles her eyebrows. "You hit me with it."

North groans, and flings an arm up to cover his eyes. "Okay. Cuddle session over."

"Yeah, right," South scoffs "you're gonna be hanging off me like a limpet for days. Speaking of which, I want to cuddle in a real bed." She shoves at his side. "Up, get up."

"Can you even walk?" he asks, and when South shakes her head he feels a surge of real concern.

"Nope. Which is why you're gonna carry me, big boy. Hop to it."

"You want a _piggyback ride_." Maybe if he says it with all the disdain it deserves, she'll let up.

He should know better by now. She's already crawling around him and locking her elbows across his neck.

"You're naked," he protests, but he's already getting to his feet with the help of his arms, trying to balance her weight as well as his own. She knees him in the butt, probably on purpose, and he tugs her legs around his waist.

"So giddyup, brother mine, before I turn into a fucking pumpkin. I'm cold."

"Jesus Christ," he says, and drags the both of them out into the hall, some strange four-armed, four-legged, one-blooded beast.  
  



End file.
